


That soft glow of neon lights on spilled blood

by Kuraiummei



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gmod, M/M, NSFW, Overly flowery writing, Rapid emotion switching, Render Art, SpecRec 2018, lost scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 12:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13834242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei
Summary: They catch their pleasure in the interstitial moments. It's where convenience and support tilt over into something more. The 'why' will never make sense, neither before nor after these vengeful days.





	That soft glow of neon lights on spilled blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter/gifts).



> A/N: Nooot Safeeee for Woooorrrrrrrk. <3
> 
> ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Read^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
> 
> A/N/N: This was so much fun to write! I think I may have overdone it, but I tried for 'dramatic' and it sort of went off on it's own. n_n;;; Anywhoo... the req was for fanart or fanfic, so I dabbled in both. :3
> 
> Original Prompt:  
> Something dramatic. Garrus' time on the bridge before the dreaded phone call to his father. He thinks Sidonis is dead with the rest of them, but really its a body double in his place. Then a part two, him learning that Sidonis is actually alive and betrayed him.

  


 

 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

 

Light the color of iodine spilled through the window. The blue glow of his visor bled into it, tinting the world a murky green. Garrus slid inside his lover without noticing the play of light, absorbed by the feel of texture, tightness, and heat. A tortured moan rolled from the form splayed beneath him, followed by the sound of talons raking useless lines over the shred-resistant cloth of a convenient tarp.

  


“Ooohhhhh… ffffffffuck...”

  


A smirk pulled at his mandibles as he panted for air, pleased with the result of sinking in to the hilt.

  


The moment held them captive there, rapid hearts and uneven breath the opening notes to the symphony they were about to make. An escapist’s sonata to clean the drudge of Omega from their very bones and replace it with sweetness and simple bliss.

  


It wasn’t love, but neither was it less.

  


Garrus was the first to move, pulling back from the connection in a slow drag. His always-louder partner failed to stifle another noise of appreciation. Not that it mattered, the others all knew what they were doing on any given night. They approved, or at least understood. The work their squad did was heavy on the soul. Each had their vices to lighten the burden, and something as wholesome as casual sex was hardy the strangest thing any of them did to cope.

  


“Sssspirits…” came a hoarse whisper below him, the other male’s eyes closed and harmonics starting to tilt over into lust-lost vibrations. The former detective rumbled in overt agreement, abs tightening as he rolled back inside to the reward of a sibilant hiss. Slick walls around Garrus’ cock tightened down, making the microplating along his length drag and catch against the channel's surface. Garrus lost his own battle with silence then, a quiet jumble of pleasured moaning and appreciative subvocals falling from him like heavy rain.

  


The room’s light shifted again as a skycar flew by the apartment block, bright LED headlights making the backroom niche of ammo clips and schematics look almost as if sunlit. The effect was fleeting, their shelter shading back down to it’s peaceful murk as the traveler moved on.

  


Garrus drew back again, this time seeking a slow rhythm of push and pull to guide them both to release. The scratching of sheets peaked then quit as hands came up to hold his ass, kneading with encouragement. A lilt of adoring, begging subvocals rose on the air, pleading for him to give more.

  


Omega Station had Garrus running on the fumes of the goodness inside of him, but thankfully not in this. He could still be a generous lover. The sniper’s pace kicked up to an easy lope, fueled more by the pump of crested hips than the rolling of tawny brown abs it had been before.

  


“Ohhh-hh-hhhhyyyyessss…”

  


The air began to feel thin, blood running hot and strength leaching from his frame in the way that no battle or combat sim ever managed, only good sex on the third or fourth round. That was another reason he was going slower, mostly to do with frayed nerves and an eventual need for sleep. They did have an operation tomorrow.

  


“Please… please, Garrus... D-don’t go ea-ahhhh~”

  


That smirk tugged at his mandibles again as the sniper leaned down to rumble smugly into an aural canal. “Don’t go… what now?”

  


“Ea-aahhhhhHH!” was the reply as ex-detective popped his hips forward, licking salty sweat from the soft hide under the other male’s jawline. Talons bit into his ass for the trouble, his lover’s subvocals suppressing laughter while dizzy with lust. He knew there would probably be exaggerated complaining for his cheek later, but that had never stopped the likes of Garrus Vakarian from anything at all.

  


“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that…”

  


Another pop of hips, another failed reply.

  


“Could you repeat that _one_ more time…”

  


A snap of teeth came at his neck, nowhere near enough to break hide but a sufficient reprimand from the shaking form beneath him, reasonably agitated to be kept distracted and off balance for too long when the pleasure of another release was so close at hand.

  


Lights flashed in the window again as his pace grew to speed. They chased their bliss together, driving out the pre-mission jitters and washing their focus clean as they both came within minutes of the other.

 

Their world reduced down to heartbeats thudding in their hearing and stars on the edge of vision. Climax came to steal the last of their strength, and left the two Turians with bone-melting bliss and naught else.

 

Slippery white come coated his stomach when Garrus melted down onto his squadmate, faceplates weakly nuzzling into the hide of the other male’s neck. His lover sighed happily, a palm leaving the sniper’s abused glutes to stroke up and down the back of his spinal plating.

  


“One of these days, Garrus…”

  


He chuckled at the half-mumbled, empty threat. “You’ll what? Get me back for teasing you, Lantar? I thought you liked my sense of humor.”

  


The sleepy harrumph in reply tried to put paid to that idea, but largely failed. When he could move again, Garrus gently disentangled them and carried the smaller male to the bathroom for a quick rinse down before they hit the bunks.

 

Sleep that night came quick and easy, and the nightmares of the past stayed where they were supposed to for once.

  
  


oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

  
  


Grief pulled the strength from him like water slipping down a storm drain.

 

Subvocals shuddering with denial, Garrus' palm hit the metal wall beside his shoulder, but it slipped. He tilted farther than intended, only catching himself by leaning heavily on a forearm.

 

The air was empty, only the eternal sound of the air scrubbers reverberating in the faux-cozy living room of their base. No... that was a lie. There was also the faint sound of dripping liquid as Sensat's lifeblood ran from massive hole in his neck, body splayed over the _kava_ table like so much meat.

 

_Drip... drip... drip..._

 

He couldn't breathe. His squad...

 

Mierin, sweet and sassy Mierin, was missing her pretty blue head.

 

Butler, dear spirits Butler... whatever had happened here, he hadn't gone down easy. The scorch marks...

 

Monteague... Vortash...

 

...all dead.

 

"He-... help..."

 

Or maybe not. Garrus pulled himself together and sprinted for the whisper. Weaver's bright orange hair came into view first as he made it up the stairs. The former pilot was bleeding profusely from a pair of chest wounds, caramel skin dulled to a startling grey. He slid down beside her, medi-gel already in hand.

 

"N- nooo... 'mm fucked... Mel... Melen-" was all Weaver managed before being wracked by bubbling coughs.

 

His aura canals heard the rattle of breath and said 'dead in minutes' while his spirit screamed in denial.

 

This was his… his squad… his new family... He just…

 

A little voice whispered that he’d been a fool to let himself care again. Everyone he loved died, that was just how it worked. A darker voice from the back of his head mocked him wordlessly with scratchy, malicious laughter.  

 

Externally calm while his sanity cracked, Garrus began clogging the bullet holes, hoping that difficulty breathing because of hardened gel in the lungs was better for the wounded human than any more blood loss. When the immediate trauma was stabilized those first whispered words about their other team mate made it past his focus.

 

"Melenis? Where is-"

 

The question was answered for him by Weaver's abortive gesture to the side where Sunshine Melly laid, long since dead. Her lovely orange eyes closed forever, brawler's build limp and burned.

 

Garrus' gaze shuttered as his head swung back around to focus on Weaver. He wanted to say something to let the wild-haired human know that Melenis was gone, but the words weren't forthcoming. Still, he searched for them as he adjusted Weaver's position to something less painful looking, eyes roving the room in his sense of being unmoored.

 

A spot of hope: Erash's eyes were open and watching them.

 

The blue eyed ex-detective was just leaping up to check their status when the sound of his alias crackled harshly from a loudspeaker outside.

 

"ARCHANGEL! AAAHAHAHAHAAAA. I'VE GOT YOUR _SCRAWNY_ _ASS_ DEAD TO _RIGHTS_ THIS TIME!"

 

Garrus didn't absorb the message beyond the obvious threat, gloved talons running a scan and gently checking Erash for wounds. The result was mixed. Broken neck, but the spinal column was still intact enough for beating hearts and shallow breath. If the grumpy Batarian wasn't moved much, he might live...

 

"COME OUT AND DIE LIKE THE SCUM YOU ARE!"

 

The ex-detective belly crawled to the bunks nearby to forage for bedding, pillows… anything to try and keep the two wounded warm and still while the shouting Krogan and whoever else was outside continued to stroke their own egos. His eyes swam past the mangled corpse of his lover, pale blue colony markings lost in the bullet holes from a minigun of some sort. The heartsick mercenary swallowed and made his way back to the living, thankful that no one around could hear the wretched keen rising in his subvocals.

 

A new voice came in, Salarian, more crisp and professional than the first. "SURRENDER SO WE CAN BE DONE WITH THIS. YOU'RE FINISHED."

 

Grief began to pale beside the growing embers of rage. His shoulders stiffened with anger even as his blood ran chill with purpose.

 

The Krogan got ahold of the speaker again, laughing jovially and taunting him. "I'VE GOT ONE MORE BULLET LEFT IN THIS CLIP TURIAN, BEEN SAVING IT FOR YOU! YOUR BUDDIES DIDN'T LAST LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO NEED IT, HAHAHAHA."

 

Archangel looked up, hatred in his heart. This had to be a set up… Lantar had called… a voice recording, probably. Spirits _damn it_.

 

He’d fallen for the ruse, and his team had paid the price.

 

Garrus slid into cover under one of the blown out windows, leaning up to carefully peer over the edge. Surrounded. There were _swarms_ of yellow, red, and blue armored hostiles outside.

 

"I CAN'T WAIT TO-URKkgkllll..."

 

The concussion round hit the Krogan in the back of the throat, cutting off the provoking diatribe. The next two rounds finished the job, making the cocksure mercenary companies outside -previously laughing and sure of their victory- start scrambling for cover.

 

Precise and practiced, Archangel’s scope began sliding from one target to the next. There were so many mercenaries arrayed against him that he didn’t bother to confirm a kill before moving on to the next target.

 

The former C-Sec, ex-military, retired detective, former crew member of the Normandy, and shredded soul of Garrus Vakarian would spend the next seven days operating more like the machines he’d once fought than the flesh and blood Turian he was supposed to be. One bullet after the next, one clip after another, all the ration bars and stims in the hideout, everything at his disposal to be used to some advantage.

 

His two wounded died sometime on the third day, one after the other like candle lights going out in a breeze.

 

Garrus kept aiming, kept shooting.

 

The sniper knew the enemies outside would overpower him eventually, but in the meantime he would kill as many of the gang members as he could. He kept up an efficiency of resources that would make the hardest of survivalists flinch. Garrus demanded perfection of focus of himself, regardless of his fading will to carry on.

 

He was, in fact, dead to rights, but his squad... they deserved better (than just him).

  


oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

  
  


The first taste of dextro ration bar, supposedly flavored like roast _zemna_ , went down easier than he’d expected considering his face was a royal mess of cybernetics and scar tissue. Garrus bit off another hunk of the soft jerky substance with his mouthplates and swallowed it whole. He plopped down on his bunk in the main battery, tired legs complaining about the day’s use and abuse of them.

 

One hand sliding down his leg and aimed for the latch on his greaves, the sniper let the smokey air of the last mission fall from his lungs. It’d been _damn good_ to be at Shepard’s six again. It wasn’t _quite_ ‘old times’ like he kept joking, but it was close enough to provide a balm for his broken heart.

 

His squad may lie dead, but his commander was back from the dead, and the two of them were on a mission where he’d probably been joining them all soon. A smile tugged at Garrus’ mandibles at the idea of introducing them all to each other. It would be chaos. Weaver would probably hate Shepard’s way of giving orders. Erash wouldn’t respect anyone till they’d proven it was deserved...

 

The only Cerberus employed Turian in the galaxy pulled off his leg armor piece by piece while he imagined the scene, a bit slow for the determined consumption of the something-like-meat rations they provided him.

 

He was down to his undersuit and ready for a shower when a message notification popped up on his visor. Dreading that it was Solana messaging to give him well-deserved shit, the former cop reluctantly made a hand gesture in front of his visor’s camera to bring up the email program.

 

One new message, from a contact on Omega.

 

Garrus looked at it for a moment, forlorn. Someone probably needed ‘archangel’, but he wasn’t that Turian anymore. The squad was dead, and whoever was making trouble for the common folk… there wasn’t much he could do about it. There just wasn’t time to stop by, and the mission they were on was too important.

 

Still, the territorial part of his heart decided he had to check. Maybe another contact could be convinced to lend a hand, and he could connect them to each other. Help, remotely.

 

Worth a shot.

 

_[From: Sivesii Ronton]_

_[To: Archangel]_

 

_I knew that shit you were up to was gonna catch up to you big guy. I told you. I TOLD you._

 

_Whatever._

 

_Listen, I heard about your buddies getting you out. It’s the talk of the town down at the queenie’s little bar and grill. Grainy ass footage of the whole thing is being passed between intel brokers around here like an STD. You’d be interested to know the Kobi boys went down there after the smoke cleared and got your dead out. They was incinerated, put ‘em in nice urns._

 

_Okay, that’s a lie. They’re in ammo crates. Sealed up, at least._

 

_Anyway, I’m messaging you and Lan to see what you want us to do with the ashes. Let me know, and I’ll get the word to the boys._

 

_-The Ronton_

 

_[End Message]_

  


Garrus swallowed heavily, giving himself a moment before he replied.

  


_[From: Archangel]_

_[To: Sivesii Ronton]_

 

_Thanks for reaching out to me. Really appreciate it. Lantar is in those ashes as well. I’m the only one left. Can you hold them for me? I want to stop by and get them. Need to check with someone first._

 

_Thanks again._

 

_[End Message]_

  


The reply, when it came, changed everything.

  


_[From: Sivesii Ronton]_

_[To: Archangel]_

 

_Got some good news for you, big guy. Peachy saw your boy over on the 204 a few days ago, but he was too busy to talk or something. Not the only one left after all. You should message him and one of you come get these ammo crates._

 

_They’re creepy, so hurry the fuck up._

 

_-The Ronton_

 

_[End Message]_

  


He read the message. He read it again. His mind spun, heart pounding, thoughts whirling between hope and confusion. Garrus first sent a message straight to Lantar... just in case. Then he sent another to an intel broker on Omega that should have the ‘grainy ass footage’. Then another to a contact that refuelled on IMJ-204 station almost weekly. He was just about to stand up and put his armor back on to go talk to Shepard when a set of return messages came.

 

_[From: Automated Reply 1137434581]_

_[To: Sender]_

 

_The digital address [1137434581] is no longer valid, please recheck the contact information under ‘Sidonis, Lantar’ and resend your message._

 

_Thank you, and have a nice day._

 

_[End Message]_

  
  


_[From: Apoco Han]_

_[To: Archangel]_

 

_This one is pleased to hear from you. There was worrying news given about your wellbeing last time this one docked on Omega. It is good to know that you have not joined the Enkindlers in the afterlife just yet. As to your question, this one is regretful to say that your colleague has not been spotted recently. The other pilots often spoken to have also not noticed anyone meeting his description. He was last seen walking toward the eastern side of refueling station IMJ-204, where generally the ships are headed into Council Space. This one hopes that this information is helpful, and that you are able to locate them. If you have further need of aid, please do not hesitate to ask. Your esteemed assistance with the matters involving the Blue Suns will not be soon forgotten._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Apoco Han_

 

_[End Message]_

  


It took him fifteen thousand credits, six days, and the will to face increasingly incriminating news, but Garrus tracked down enough footage from various security cameras, Omni-tools, dash cams, and security checkpoints to put the facts together. It wasn’t difficult. He was the son of a C-Sec legend, and a decent detective all on his own merit.

 

The sniper almost wished he was a shit detective, actually. Failing at finding answers might’ve been better than actually finding them. Lantar was alive. The ashes in the jar were from… someone. Identity unknown. A body double, maybe.

 

His lover’s bank account had _so many_ zeroes on the end of it.

 

There was a glimpse, sixteen point three seconds, of the other Turian walking past a jewelry store on Zakera ward.

 

On.

 

Fucking.

 

Zakera Ward.

 

It was Garrus’ old beat, from his half forgotten C-Sec days. Home turf, so to speak. It made the edges of his vision swim with blue. 

 

The pieces of truth from each new bit of intel felt like talons raking down his back, biting into the soft hide and leaving it to bleed blue.

 

Archangel’s visor was beeping at him about his blood pressure when Shepard walked in asking innocent questions. As always, he was some variety of calm on the outside. Inside... he could hear that malicious laughter again.

 

“It was my own damn fault. One of my people betrayed me. A Turian named... Sidonis.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: ...aaaaand cut. That's a wrap, thanks for stopping by.


End file.
